


Parched

by Hannibalsimago



Category: Hannibal (TV) RPF, Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Kissing, M/M, Madancy, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibalsimago/pseuds/Hannibalsimago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long work week on set.  Having Thai and some brews with Team Sassy Science.  Hugh stays after everyone leaves. More alcohol leads to more kissing. </p><p>Beta’ed by the wonderful em-c-writes and yggdrastiles on Tumblr!  </p><p>Any mistakes are my own.   This is my first fanfic.</p><p>This is RPF and is for entertainment purposes only. I respect the cast, crew, and production company so thanks and apologies in advance.</p><p> @Mindyoursugarlevels  <a></a>  created the lovely artwork!  Please go over on Tumblr and say thank you.</p><p> </p><p>  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Parched

It had been a long week with some early calls; just when you think you can relax Bryan drops off “just a few pages for Monday. “

Fatigue hits like an express train as you make your way back to your room. A change of plans is in order.

“Hugh, did Bryan stop by? … You got the pages – just 2 scenes. Why don’t we grab Hettienne, Aaron and Scott and run them tonight?” The door swings open as you enter your suite. “No, my place in about an hour and a half? Thai ok? I’ll get things ready while you round up everyone. ”

Another phone call to Thai Palace for the delivery order, Pad Thai, Volcano Chicken, Green Papaya Salad and Chicken in Coconut Soup. No need to make a beer run as you did that in preparation for the weekend fishing trip. You can pick up more beer tomorrow on the way to Duffins Creek for your joint fly fishing expedition for Rainbow trout. The autumn temperatures will be perfect for camping.

After couple of ice runs to the end of the hall later, the beer is chilling in the kitchenette sink.

Just enough time for a shower before everyone arrives. ‘Alt kommer rundt igen,’ you muse as the water eases some of the tension out of your back. Of course, the main reason for the nostalgia is Hugh. ‘It’s wonderful to work with him again.” The camaraderie, not to mention the jokes, especially during the most horrific sequences have helped build the cohesion of cast and crew . ‘ Us against the world, like a family.’ The last TV series, Unit One, was enjoyable but this was different. A risk-taking atmosphere on the set with lots of collaboration - that came from Bryan. Even though, the hours might be long, it’s been worth it.

Lately, it’s not enough, when the two of you slip back into individual routines, why do you feel pain like a tongue poking into cavity? The uneasiness definitely started when Bryan, Hugh and you started to brainstorm on how to push the show’s boundaries regarding the subtext of Hannibal and Will’s onscreen relationship. “It’s too much to think about, too serious. better to not go down that path. Leave well enough alone.” You push the thoughts away as you climb out of the shower and get dressed.

One Adidas track suit later (not your favorite, the red one, but comfortable) and you’re ready to play host. Everything’s set. The Thai Palace delivery man’s just left, counting his tip and whistling as he goes towards the elevator. Before your door can close, you can hear the raucous group arrive as the second elevator door opens and dings. Hettienne is giggling at something Scott has said – naturally, Scott is fucking hilarious. Hugh gives you a huge smile. Those ears. He also happens to be carrying a small brown bag and pantomimes “shhhh” as you realize what’s inside.

“Come in, Come in! Grab some food and a beer.” The door closes and the hallway goes silent.

A few hours later, Aaron and Hettienne are laughing while Scott is going on about “craquelure” and how difficult it’s going to be on Monday if tonight’s run through is any indication. “Yeah, eight languages, you’d think Mads would have an easier time of it. Oh, well, no one’s perfect,” you hear as the group heads back down the hallway. As the door closes, you chuckle.

Hugh’s sprawled on couch and asks you to hand him his whiskey please. 

“Being lazy, are you?” as you hand him his glass.

“Just tired” 

You pick up his legs from off the sofa, pivoting ninety degrees and place them on the wooden coffee table moving the detritus out of the way.

“Do you want a pillow?” 

“No” he replies, laughing. “Just come and sit – you’ve been playing the host all night. You still want to go fishing this weekend?” “

“OH” you huff out a groan as you slump on the sofa where Hugh’s legs were minutes before. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

He grins and drinks down a long sip of whiskey. “I don’t know why you don’t like it - the whiskey, I mean. Not the fishing.”

“I told you – it’s like drinking perfume.” 

The lamp light catches part of his face with the other in shadow. He’s an incredibly attractive man, and even though Hugh is sensitive about his ears, you can’t stop staring and thinking how adorable they are.

Everyone has to have something about them that they would change if they could. 'Hugh’s ears make him human, not a Botticelli sculpture. Although he IS so beautiful, Botticelli and Michelangelo would have fought each other to sculpt him. Oh, god, I must be drunk. Listen to me!'

You could look at him for hours watching the emotions flit across his face - you have gotten very adept at guessing his mind from what emotions you can see chase each other across it most especially in his blue eyes. “ There you go again.” As soon as you think it, the pain blossoms in your heart again, damn toothache! 

“Are you ok, Mads? You look so forlorn. Should I leave?” Hugh sounds concerned. 

“NO! I mean, no, please. I was just thinking –that’s all – about our friendship and what it means to me,”

“Oh, if it’s nothing worse than that – you have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to leave you. We are friends through and through, come horses, hell or high water!” The level of whiskey in Hugh’s glass steadily goes down as the two of you coordinate plans for tomorrow. 

You say something incorrigible which makes Hugh laugh as he is just about to sip. He sputters and recovers but some whiskey beads on his lower lip. His tongue darts out. 

“Oh, how lovely” and suddenly you realize that you are drunk enough to have said that out loud – and Hugh has heard you.

“Mads, you are blushing the most interesting shade of crimson I’ve ever seen. I think you DO want some whiskey after all.” He grins and his eyes twinkle as he says this. Suddenly, he moves his legs off the coffee table and inches closer, bringing the glass with him.

“Shall we try this again?” he asks? “Do you want to say please, Mads, hmmm”? He looks like the cat that has swallowed the canary – all smooth and sure of himself. You are speechless, pulse pounding in your head – not sure if you heard correctly. 

Hugh teases, “You blush divinely you know. Are you playing hard to get? And you never answered me…”

Your throat feels dry and you can’t look away. This must be how a butterfly feels being pinned by a collector – a sharp, exquisite pain – something Hannibal would inflict. 

“Please, Hugh” you whisper barely audible. Hugh leans in as you speak, and grins with a devilish look in his eye.

“Very well” He raises the glass and takes another sip, allowing more liquid to dot his lip. He looks at you expectantly. It takes all of your energy to simply reach out with your hand, barely grazing his cheek with your finger tips and allowing your thumb to rub lazily across his lower lip, gathering the errant drops. You draw your hand back quickly as if stung and slip your thumb into your mouth, sucking at whatever liquid remained.

Now it’s Hugh’s turn to blush and he gives a strangled sort of cry when he sees your thumb disappear into your wetness. After a few moments, Hugh pulls your thumb from your mouth. Of course, you deliberately provoke him by making the most obscene sound when you release it. Hugh jumps in reflex.

“For once, I wish there was more whiskey, Hugh,” you murmur. 

He laughs delightedly and picks up the glass. Minute remnants pool at the bottom and dot the inside of the glass – enough for one more taste. His pink tongue darts out and in seconds, the glass is clean. You watch this show dumbstruck. He puts the glass down very slowly and carefully as if he’s afraid to move suddenly. He’s as taut as a bowstring. His eyes flicker upwards and he leans toward you and drawls “Why Mads…all you have to do…. Is….drink…….ME.”

You can’t believe what you just heard. Your brain is spinning – processing too much information and your body moves without you thinking. You close the distance and tentatively hover over Hugh’s lips. “Go on, Mads, I told you to….drink…me.” A moan cuts through the silence and you realize it came from you.

Your head lowers while your lips ghost against his and you can feel his warm breath on your face as he exhales. Twice more, your lips graze his. You start with his upper lip, running your tongue along the entire surface and darting into the corners where his lips meet. ‘This is ….heavenly. Not like perfume at all. Smokey peat, carmel, salt flavors.' And underneath you can taste his exquisite muskiness.

You carefully taste his lower lip, tracing the path your thumb made not moments before. You pull back to find his lips have reddened and are slightly swollen. Hugh is panting and trembling as much as you are at this point. You tilt your head slightly and move in to kiss him again. As you do, his tongue darts out and paints your lips. You can taste spice and citrus notes from the whiskey. 

You hands reach up to caress his jaw, cupping it, to allow you open Hugh’s mouth just that much wider. This time, your tongue slips into his mouth. As soon as your tongue touches his, Hugh makes a noise. “Oh, Mads, oh, yes, yes” he pants as he grips your shoulders and starts to undulate his hips against you.

Who knows how long this continues? Tentative touches, tremulous eyes and murmured endearments. It seems like time is both standing still and racing by simultaneously. He plants tiny ghost kisses along all the angular planes of your face. 

You move your lips to his jaw and slide a wet path to those adorable ears and start to nibble. He growls and says something like “don’t you dare stop”. His hands dance up and down your arms, moving to your torso where he tries to pull at your track suit zipper. You’ve got his lobe in between your teeth and are pulling, biting and licking it, listening to Hugh panting wildly. You stop periodically to blow on his wet flesh which sends him into even more of a frenzy. You worry his earlobe with your teeth, nipping like a dog would play with a bone. The sounds Hugh makes are incoherent and slightly obscene.

You break away and find yourself undoing his shirt buttons. His chest bared, you take his hands in your left, raising them up over his head and pinning them against the sofa arm. With your other hand, stroke a line from his ear, down his neck, past his shoulder blades to his torso. You caress and pinch his nipples first with your hand and then with your mouth alternating between each erect nub. 

“Mads,” he breathes. “T..touch…ah…ah…m…me. Oh, Please!” You release his hands.

“Where, Hugh? Where shall I go next? Where do you want me, you wanton boy?” you blow and whisper in his very wet ear –which sends him in a writhing frenzy as he bucks up against you, hips and abdomen frantically rubbing against you. Hugh is practically non-vocal at this point, not silent by any means, just robbed of practical speech. You pull back and look at his sweaty visage, lips reddened and swollen by your kisses, eyes almost completely black, pupils blown wide in lust. “Oh, oh….ah…um… h..HERE” from Hugh as he takes your right hand and places it directly over his engorged and leaking cock.

“Oh, Hugh.” He keens as your hand caresses him though his boxers. “I guess this means I won’t be able to call you “my wee man” any longer.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Alt kommer rundt igen =Everything comes around again (Danish)


End file.
